Welcome to the Regiment
by Lord Ironwolf
Summary: It's not easy being a woman in the 40K universe. Especially for a female Commissar assigned to an all male regiment.


Welcome to the Regiment

Commissar Ludmilla Rheinholt resigned herself to the view as she stared at a spot between the shoulder blades of the Commissar in front of her. 'It's a bitch being short and ugly.' She mused to herself. 'But then, being a female commissar, the bitch part is a given.'

There wasn't much to see anyway. The shuttle did not have any viewports and that was just as well. She had gotten a good look at the encroaching warp storm from the viewing deck of the transport after they entered the Medusa system. She didn't look forward to seeing the damn thing get larger everyday from the ground. Ludmilla was just one of a thousand commissars rounded up and sent to Medusa V to bolster the resolve of the Imperial forces. They were to be spread all over the planet, but when they reached orbit, it was decided that they were all to be directed to the Hydra sector. The rest of the planet was either well under control or holding even. Hydra though, was slipping fast. Until more forces could be found to turn that around, it was determined that all the commissars were needed there to get the most out of what was left of those regiments already in place. She was being assigned to one of the many regiments fortifying the Sybilla Primus hive.

Actually, Ludmilla was not being entirely fair to herself. On her home world of Randal's Star IV, at five foot, three inches, she was of average height. Randal's Star IV was a heavy gravity planet and the people there tended to be shorter and more heavily muscled than on most other Imperial worlds. Ugly was not entirely accurately either. She had a build that would have been called 'stocky' even on her home world. Combine that with the rigorous physical conditioning at the scholam that she was sent to after her parents died, and the result was a body that most body builders could only dream of. There was not an ounce of fat on her; her muscle tone could have been sculpted from stone. She had wide hips, a thick waist, and a truly impressive chest measurement that contained minimal soft tissue. She presented an extremely powerful image. That image though, was usually masked by the greatcoat that all commissars wear. To the casual viewer, she looked like a short, dumpy, female commissar with an unremarkable face. Not ugly, just unremarkable. The bitch part, that was dead on.

Finally the shuttle doors opened and the queued up commissars began to shuffle forward. Ludmilla hefted her duffle bag and combi-weapon as if they were weightless and moved forward with the rest of the commissars. To her, the duffle and weapon really were nearly weightless. As a child she was already considered unusually strong. Now, at the peak of physical condition, her strength was far beyond what anyone would suspect. As she exited the shuttle, she began to look for a dispatcher so she could get transport to her new regiment. She was eager to get some firm information on how things were in the hive. The briefings they received on the situation on the ground had not been very helpful. One briefer summed it up as 'very bad and confused' while another simply used the term 'clusterfuck' and told everyone to imagine a locked room filled with ten spoiled brats and a cake cut into eight pieces. She searched the organized chaos that was the airbase around her and eventually spotted a harried looking civilian who was brusquely directing work crews and went over to him.

"Excuse me, where can I find a dispatcher? I need to arrange a transport."

The crew manager looked her over with tired, dull eyes and said, "Do I look like I give a shit what you need? I've got too much to do and don't have time to talk to you." He turned and yelled some instructions to a waiting work gang and then gave an order to a person that had been waiting nearby. He turned back to Ludmilla, "You still here? Get moving and don't try to intimidate me with your Commissar threats. For one thing, I'm a civilian and I don't fall under your authority. For another, I'm so damn burnt out I just don't care. If you shot me, you'd be doing me a favor." Ludmilla just nodded in sympathy, shifted her combi-weapon from her right shoulder to her left, and then landed an uppercut to his chin that almost, but not quite lifted him off the pavement. She didn't know it, but she actually _did_ do him a favor. It was the first uninterrupted rest he had in almost a week.

She looked down at the unconscious, crumpled form and said, "No, really, don't get up. You need the rest. I'll just ask someone else." She turned and stalked toward a now terrified work gang. Before she got there she heard her name called from behind her.

"Commissar Rheinholt!" Ludmilla turned and looked. It was Commissar Grouper. They had spent some time together on the transport and they had got to know each other rather well. They had not been on the same shuttle and she was glad to see him and so went over to speak to him. In a low voice, and with a fierce scowl, he said "I have secured a vehicle and would be glad if you joined me."

"I can find a vehicle myself. Do you think I need looked after? And what's with the scowl?" She silently dared him to say anything about her being a woman. Then there would be two unconscious forms on the pavement.

Still scowling and talking low, "I know full well you don't need help, I was just being friendly. As for the face, I never pass up a chance to improve moral." Ludmilla raised one eyebrow in question. "I saw you deck that poor soul and now everyone else who saw it thinks I'm reprimanding you for it."

Ludmilla gave him a scowl in return, "So, you're using me for your own ends?"

"Of course, do you have any objections to that?"

Ludmilla briefly thought back on the time she spent with him on the transport and her scowl became a smirk. "You should already know the answer to that one."

Commissar Grouper turned and started walking toward a row chimeras and Ludmilla went with him. Out of sight of the work crews, the scowl vanished and was replaced by a relaxed grin. "Speaking of which, I don't suppose you'd care to get together again while we're here?"

Ludmilla shrugged, "I wouldn't mind, except for a few minor details. I don't think we'll have the time, the energy, or more to the point, both be alive in a month."

"As you say," he replied dryly, "minor details. The first two I might be able to manage to get around. That last one could be a bit tricky."

"How about we just wait until your ribs heal? You light worlders are a bit fragile."

Grouper touched a tender spot on his side and winced. "Thanks for reminding me. When we do get together, don't expect me to take off the chest plate of my carapace armor."

Ludmilla gave him an evil grin. "Suit yourself. It won't make any difference."

Grouper let out a small chuckle, "That fills me with an equal amount of both dread and anticipation." He had learned the hard way that the term 'crushing embrace' was not a figure of speech where Ludmilla was concerned. Still though, it was worth it. They climbed into the nearest vehicle and Grouper signaled the driver that they were ready. Four chimeras pulled off in formation away from the airfield and headed into Sybilla Prime.

Ludmilla looked at Grouper suspiciously, "You arranged a convoy? Putting on airs are we?"

"Actually, it was already set up. There are commissars in each chimera. I will however, take credit for holding them up for you."

"Do you think things are so bad we need to travel in convoys?" They both stopped talking to look out the viewports and watch the city pass by. By the time they had gone 5 miles they had their answer, and were very glad to be inside chimeras moving in a convoy.

The trip through the hive told her more than any of the on ship briefings. Checkpoints were frequent and well manned. Control was being maintained but she could almost feel the growing desperation in the air. Arbite patrols were out in force and there was evidence of rioting in some areas. Heads turned and eyes followed the convoy everywhere they passed. Some were filled with hate, some with hope, and others were simply calculating. There was no one that was uninterested in their passing. Such scrutiny was quite unusual and more than a little unsettling.

Eventually, she was deposited at the headquarters section for the 233rd Wallford Regiment. A guide was quickly located and she was led to the regimental command bunker. Although seemingly impassive, she made a careful note of everything she saw along the way. It didn't take long for her to realize this was not going to be an easy posting. The equipment was well maintained, troopers wore proper uniforms, and the company areas were clean. She could tell this was a well disciplined unit and well disciplined units generally resented commissars as unnecessary. The disapproving looks she was being given reinforced that impression as well. The other thing annoyed her was that and they were just so damn tall. The average trooper she noticed was around six feet tall. Soon they were at the entrance to the command bunker. There was a brief wait while the trooper went inside to announce the commissar. Ludmilla was ushered in and the trooper was dismissed. She found herself facing a tall, fit, middle aged man with grey in the temples of his close cropped hair, dressed in combat fatigues. He came to attention and saluted. "Madam Commissar, I am Colonel Jartan Hartman. Commander of the 233rd Wallford Guard Regiment."

Ludmilla set the duffle bag down and returned the salute, she then took off her cap and tossed it onto the Colonel's desk and extended her right hand. "Commissar Ludmilla Rheinholt. You can dispense with the 'Madam' nonsense if you please." As the Colonel shook her hand she gave it a 'knuckle crunch' grip and was satisfied to see his eyes widen in surprise. She thought it was best to dispel any weak female notions he may have before they became a problem later. Jartan retrieved his and gave Ludmilla an appraising look. He nodded slightly to himself and said; "I was about to have some caff. Would you like some?"

"Certainly."

"Have a seat and I'll get us some." Ludmilla set her bulky combi-weapon against the wall by her duffle and pulled a chair over to the Colonel's desk then sat down, ignoring the ominous creaking as she settled her weight into it. Jartan looked closely at the odd weapon as he poured the caff, but didn't say anything. He poured 2 mugs and set one down in front of Ludmilla before sitting down in his own chair. She took a sip of the hot black liquid while waiting for the Colonel to begin. Normally she drank it with cream and sugar, but she suspected it was not offered on purpose as a test, so she said nothing. With a weary sigh, the Colonel started, "I wish I could say I was happy to welcome you to the regiment, but I'm afraid that isn't the case. We don't have any need for Commissars in this unit."

Ludmilla decided to seize the initiative from him. "Of course not, good soldiers don't. From what little I've seen, you have an excellent, disciplined command. However, High Command isn't concerned with what people like you and I think. I have been assigned here so it is here that I will carry out my duties. You can argue with Command if you wish, but I've learned not to waste my time."

Jartan was about to argue further, but realized she was right. He pushed on, "Very well, I have to ask a couple of questions bluntly. All officers in this regiment hold their rank because they earned it. There are no 'appointees'. You have to be an experienced NCO to qualify for promotion to officer grade. In short, they are experienced and know their jobs. They don't need suggestions or advice. Are you the type that gives lots of either?"

"Fear not Colonel, I have no delusions of Gauntness."

He frowned, "You mean 'greatness'?"

Ludmilla gave him a tight smile, "No, I meant Gauntness. Sorry, it's something of an inside joke. I know what my job is and while I can command if needed, I won't go out of my way for it. Suggestions and advice will be at a minimum."

"Very good, well then, how free are you with your use of summary execution? I can tell you for nothing, that unless it's obvious it was necessary, you'll have a lot of trouble in this regiment."

Ludmilla gave him another tight smile. "I don't know what kind of Commissars you've had in the past, but only the poor ones rely on 'bolter inspiration'." 'Wait for it'; she thought to herself, 'timing is everything'. Jartan nodded in satisfaction and took a drink of his caff. 'Perfect,' she thought, then said out loud, "I prefer to crush their balls." Jartan choked and spewed caff across the desk, barely missing the Commissar. Silently she thought, 'serves you right for not offering me cream and sugar'.

He sputtered for a moment and after he could speak again, "WHAT did you say!?"

"Crush-their-balls. You're absolutely right about summary execution in a regiment that already has good discipline. Casually execute one trooper who is being troublesome, and the rest start thinking about revenge. I am well familiar with what they call 'Opps, sorry Sir'. On the other hand, crush that same persons' balls and the only thing most other men can think of is 'Thank the Emperor that wasn't me'. The Colonel just looked at her incredulously. She went on, "Think of it this way, when a soldier is brave, they say he has lots of balls. When he is craven, they say he has no balls. I am simply going straight to the part of a man that does most of his thinking and motivating for him. I don't kill people that I find lacking in motivation; I just make them wish they were dead."

He continued to stare at her for a moment more. "As much as it appalls me, I think you have a point. I _would_ rather be shot." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "Shall we move on to something else?"

"By all means, what is the strategic situation? The briefings we received on the way here were not very helpful."

Again, he was silent for a moment. "There are a lot of ways to describe what's going on but the word that keeps coming to mind the most is 'clusterfuck'. Let me tell you what I know and then you can tell me if you have better word. As far High Command has let me know, every enemy that the Imperium has is present on this planet. That's the bad news. The good news is that they all appear to have different agendas that are at odds with each other and none of them are working together. They're fighting each other as much as they are us thankfully. We would have been dead already if they were cooperating. The Eldar are an exception. They seem happy enough to help us as long as we are fighting Chaos and don't get in the way of what they're doing. However, they won't tell us what they're doing here, so we can't help but to get in their way. You never know what side they're on until they start shooting. There are also a large number of Space Marine chapters here and supposedly they have the same goal as us, to evacuate the civilians off this planet. However, coordination has not exactly been close and several chapters seem completely uninterested in the evacuation. Mind you, they're fighting hard, but they appear to have other objectives."

Ludmilla considered what he said and thought it was a wonderfully succinct description. "Yeah, clusterfuck, I've heard that term used before to describe what's going on down here."

"Great minds think alike." The Colonel muttered humorlessly.

What about the local situation? What do I need to know about the hive we're responsible for?"

"About what you'd expect in a hive on a planet that has a death sentence and the clock is winding down to zero. Every one that isn't terrified is at least scared. People are disappearing without a trace. We have Tyranids in the sewers. Chaos cults are revealing themselves. Doomsday and salvation cults are popping up almost every hour. Each one is saying that theirs is the only way to be saved. All of them are crazy. Some are dangerous, some are harmless, and some are just annoying. We have one in our sector that is actually helpful, but the leader is insane."

"Insane but helpful?"

"Their leader is a venquilitist that believes his hand puppet is the reincarnation of a local cardinal." Jartan closed his eyes and let out a big sigh. "At least I hope he _is_ a venquilitist. I try not to think about it too closely. At any rate the puppet is a great public speaker and he preaches unaltered Imperial Creed. He tells people not to panic and to cooperate with the Guard and do what they can to help the evacuation. He's been an amazing help in keeping things quiet. If an Inquisitor shows up to denounce him, I'll have a real tough decision to make."

"It doesn't sound that tough. Kill the man holding the puppet and you'll have a major riot at the very least. It shouldn't be too much trouble for something to happen to the Inquisitor if one shows up."

Jartan looked at her in shock. "Do you realize what you're saying?"

"Yes, I'll be keeping a tense situation from becoming a full blown panic. Our duty is to get people off this planet as quickly and peacefully as possible. If someone wants to toss a frag grenade into the promethium tank, he's not working in the best interests of the Imperium and should be stopped." Ludmilla smiled cruelly, "By disrupting one of the few things keeping the peace, he could even be mistaken for an agent of Chaos." She leaned forward in her chair and lowered her voice. "Keep this between us. I don't like Inquisitors and would not walk too far out of the way if I had a chance to shoot one legally." She leaned back in her chair and continued casually, "If you think this preacher needs protected, I'll back you up." And with that pledge of support, Ludmilla secured the cooperation and respect of the Colonel, just as she planned. "One thing though, if some one does shoot the man, pray that the puppet _does_ stop talking or we'll all be in a lot of trouble."

"Too true Commissar. You know, I think we're going to get along just fine. I'll be assigning you to 3rd Company, 3rd Battalion." He glanced at his watch. "If you're hungry, there is still time to get a late meal from the mess hall. I'll have your things transferred to your quarters, once I figure out where to put you." He didn't offer a guide to either location. It was a minor test, like the caff, to see how she reacted to small slights. It can tell you a lot about a person.

Ludmilla stood up, "That would be nice. It's been a long time since lunch." She turned to retrieve her weapon.

"Before you go, if you don't mind, could you tell me just what that thing is?" he said, pointing to the combi-weapon.

"Oh that. One of the munition depots we passed through had some adept techs looking for people to field test a new combi-weapon." She walked over to the weapon and picked it up and brought it to the Colonel. "It's a standard flamer/bolter combination with the modification that the flamer is a full weapon mounted side by side with the bolter, not just a one shot wonder slung underneath. They also mounted a pump grenade launcher between and below the two barrels. This thing has a technical designation, but I prefer using the nickname they had for it. They call it a 'Ripley'. I didn't get the full story on that. It had something to do with a desperate naval officer and a Tyranid." She handed the weapon over to Jartan.

From the ease that she handled it, he expected it to be lighter than it was. It was indeed as heavy as it was bulky, but the Commissar hefted it around as if it were a pistol. He then remembered the handshake and stopped being surprised. He examined the weapon with professional interest and was satisfied with what he saw. He decided it was the perfect weapon for the commissar. It was bulky, unattractive, and possessed and incredible capacity for violence. He didn't know it, but Ludmilla liked the weapon for the exact same reasons. His only comment as he handed it back was, "Impressive."

Ludmilla found her way to the mess hall without much trouble. Off in the distance she heard gunfire. No one around her seemed to notice it so she assumed it was safe for her to ignore as well. The hall was deserted except for a mildly amused looking server and three troopers talking quietly at one table. All conversation stopped when she entered the room and the server brightened at her approach. Ignoring the table with the troopers, she picked up a tray and utensils from the stack and walked up to the server. The server gave her a genuine smile, "Good evening Madam Commissar." He gave the tongs and ladle he was holding a theatrical flourish, "Trooper 'Cookie' McCrandle at your service. How may I serve you?"

"You can start by stuffing that 'madam' bit in the garbage disposal. I prefer to be addressed as 'Commissar'."

He gave the ladle a flip and a twirl and then saluted with it, "As you wish Commissar."

Ludmilla looked at him sideways, "You seem unusually cheerful." She was suspicious, but did not see any of the usual signs of illegal stimulants.

"Now, now, Commissar, I recognize that look and I assure you there is nothing artificial about my attitude. After being nearly killed some years ago, I realized that as a Guardsman, my life could be snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane at any moment and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. So I decided to take enjoyment from every moment of the unknown amount of time I have left to live. I look around for things to amuse me and I usually find them. Technically, I believe I am certifiably insane. However, no one seems to be in hurry to lock away a person who is happy, doing his job well, and doesn't hurt anyone he's not supposed to."

Personally, she felt that the Imperium needed more insanity of that type. However, that was not the sort of comment a commissar could make, so she simply asked what was on the menu. "Now there, you are in luck commissar. Tonight we are having a regimental favorite, kritchen and grutenfalg." Ludmilla just gave him a small scowl and extended her tray to him. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of having her ask what it was. That reaction seemed to be the correct one, for he smiled a bit wider and explained. "Kritchen is a savory grox sausage cooked to perfection and usually served on a bed of grutenfalg. And that taste treat is basically shredded cabbage, lightly seasoned and boiled just long enough to bring it to full flavor." He dipped his tongs into the serving tray and brought up a five inch piece of sausage. His smile changed to a grin, "So then commissar, can I interest you in a nice, tasty hunk of sausage?" It was clear from his tone that there was a double meaning there and Ludmilla understood entirely.

Pretending to not catch it, she looked the bit of meat over critically and then told him, "I'm used to larger sausage than that. But if that miniscule thing is all you have to offer, I'll take it."

Cookie's grin got even bigger, "In that case, how would you like,,,"

"Cookie, whatever you offer me had better come out of that tray." She tested the edge of the knife she picked up at the end of the serving line. "Or I will see to it that whatever it is you offer _goes_ into the tray and the next person through this line will get a terrible shock."

Cookie didn't miss a beat; his tongs deftly darted into the tray and came back with a somewhat larger section of sausage. ",,, this one? Emperor protect us commissar, whatever else could you have thought I meant?" His face was now a picture of total innocence.

Ludmilla's face was expressionless and her voice entirely deadpan as she said, "It is lucky for you that I have such a highly developed sense of humor."

Cookie let out a heartfelt laugh, "A commissar with a sense of humor. The Emperor must truly love me to allow me to live to see such wonders." As she collected the rest of her dinner, Ludmilla decided that he really was insane, but in a nice way.

She made her way to a table and stared down at the sausage. It actually did remind her of the transport trip out. Commissars cannot socially fraternize with the units they are assigned to. However, Commissars are people too, and socializing amid their own was not forbidden. Being one of only a few females in a large group of men, Ludmilla discovered that even a short, ugly woman can pick and choose. It was a situation she took ruthless advantage of. Commissar Grouper was not the only person to report to the sick bay with bruised or cracked ribs. The phrase 'passionate, crushing embrace' was not just an expression with Ludmilla; it was a literal hazard when she was aroused. Oddly, this made her more popular, not less. Still, she wished light worlders were not so fragile. After being used once, they needed several days to recover if she wanted to use the same one again.

A comment from the table the troopers were sitting at interrupted her reverie. "Damn, I wish she'd look at my sausage like that." Ludmilla cursed herself for being careless. There was no help for it, this situation had to be dealt with and could not be ignored if she wanted any respect from the men in this unit. She could easily have beaten them unconscious but that would have been counter productive. Another plan came to mind and she realized that someday her sense of humor was going to really get her in trouble.

She closed her eyes and picked up the sausage with her hands. She sniffed at it, and then ran her tongue down the entire length of it. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence. She knew she had their undivided attention and for the next few minutes, did things to that sausage that the troopers had never seen before outside of contraband holo-vids. When she judged that they were as deep into the fantasy that they were going to get, she took the sausage in both hands and then held it length wise up to her lips. She then snarled and _savagely_ bit the center out, tearing it in half, and mashed the ends in her fists so that the skin burst and sausage meat gushed up between her fingers.

At the troopers' table, one of them shrieked and passed out, the other two leapt out of their chairs, knocking them over and backed up to the wall in horror, holding their hands over their crotches. Casually, Ludmilla looked over at them and asked, "So, do you still want me to look at your sausage?" Too terrified to speak, they both shook their heads no. Cookie had an extreme reaction as well. After the initial shock, he exploded into gales of uncontrollable laughter and quickly had to lean on the counter to keep from collapsing to the floor.

Trooper Jenks heard the laughter just before he reached the chow hall door. He didn't think anything about it; after all, Cookie was crazy. He was hurrying because it was late and if he missed chow he would have to settle for a ration bar for his dinner. He grimaced at the thought. They were called 'rat' bars for a good reason. He froze as he rounded the corner and stepped through the door. He quickly took in the scene in front of him. One man was face down in his grutenfalg, two more were ashen faced and backed up to the wall holding their crotches, Cookie was collapsing in hysterical laughter, and there was a female commissar eating her dinner as if nothing unusual was happening. Jenks slowly backed up and once clear of the door turned around and headed for his barracks. He decided that a rat-bar would be just fine for dinner tonight.

After finishing her dinner, Ludmilla located her quarters and was satisfied that her duffle had been delivered and everything seemed in order. She unpacked a few things and then decided it was time to meet the troops and let them know who they were dealing with. There was more sporadic gunfire off in the distance. Again, no one seemed to take any notice of it. Apparently it was so common that it was automatically screened out by anyone that had been here for any length of time. She made her way to the company barracks and as expected, the room fell silent as she entered. She was making her way to the center of common area when her path was blocked by an especially large guardsman. He was about a foot taller than her and clearly used to being an intimidating figure. While outwardly impassive, she was inwardly pleased. The big, tough ones made for good examples when they were broken.

Trooper Rhichter was a stereotypical bully in every sense of the term and was stupid besides. The proof of that was in the fact that he didn't think there was any reason to exclude Commissars from his bullying. In his book, _everyone_ had to be tested. To his reasoning, establishing his dominance shouldn't be any problem. Even if she was a commissar, she was still woman and women were easy to intimidate. And so, it was with the kind of confidence that only ignorance can provide, he had stepped in front of the commissar and stared down at her with his arms crossed in front of his massive chest, silently daring her to do or say something. However, nothing happened. Ludmilla just stood there with her hands on her hips, matching his scowl with her own unconcerned, bland gaze.

Seeing that 'the stare' was not having any effect, Rhichter decided to move on to the next stage. He put his hands on his own hips and leered down at her, "I hear that you like to put on shows. Want to put on a show with me?"

Ludmilla smiled sweetly up at him and cooed, "Ohhh, I would enjoy that very much." In that little area in the back of Rhichters' brain where his survival instincts lived, there was suddenly a great commotion as they all woke up and started ringing alarms. While Rhichter was wondering why a sudden chill went down his spine, Ludmilla turned to her left and spoke to nearest trooper, "What's your name trooper?"

Taken aback at suddenly being a part of the drama, the soldier reflexively snapped to attention. "Trooper Walchowski, Madam Commissar!"

"Trooper Walchowski, have you ever seen a man lifted off the ground by his testicles?"

"Ummm, nooooo."

Ludmilla liked wearing leather for a variety of reasons. At the moment, she was thinking about her gloves. When it was dead quiet (like now) and she flexed her fist in a particular way (like now), they made a most delightfully ominous creaking sound. Still clearly addressing Walchowski, she turned back to Rhichter and her smile went from sweet to predatory, "Would you like to?"

"Hell yes Madam! Go for it!" A chorus of approval rose up from the assembled troopers, all of them encouraging her to do it.

Rhichter never really appreciated just how unpopular he was until that very moment. His survival instincts stopped ringing alarms and raced to the front of his brain to take direct control. The situation was grim. There was no support from his fellow troopers. Backing down would mean losing a great deal of face. But if she could carry out her threat; he didn't want to think about that. Ironically, he was rescued from the situation by the man that he hated, and hated him in return, the most.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?" Master Sergeant Rodero bellowed from the doorway.

There was a rumble of disappointed mumblings from the soldiers. Walchowski's comment was perhaps the loudest. "Damn, I was really looking forward to that." However the company top sergeant had arrived and he would never allow a brawl in the barracks. The circle of troopers parted to make a path between Ludmilla and Rodero. As Ludmilla turned to face the NCO, Rhichter quickly and quietly faded into the crowd. Rodero was not as tall as most of the other men, being only about five foot nine, but he had an aura of authority and deadliness about him that demanded wariness and respect. However, Ludmilla had spent her entire life around authoritative and deadly men and was unaffected in that regard. She watched him approach and took in all the details about the way he looked, how he walked and the reaction of the men as he passed them. Ludmilla had a reaction to his sense of presence also, but it was completely different from that of the men. By the time she was face to face with Rodero, she was idly wondering how strong his ribs were. She gave a mental sigh, 'duty before personal preference, as always'.

Rodero gave her a quick look over and could sense the power and deadliness that seemed as much a part of her as her greatcoat. He gave a mental sigh, he was attracted to power women and here was a woman he would really enjoy getting to know better. However, duty before personal preference. He looked her directly in the eyes and then came straight to the point. "Look madam Commissar, it's nothing personal. But we don't need Commissars in this company and we especially don't need a woman around here causing discipline problems. I don't know what was going on before I came in, but they never carry on like that when there are only men in here. It would really be for the best if you just collected your gear and assigned yourself to another regiment."

Rodero would never realize how terribly he sealed his fate by accusing her of being a discipline problem because she was a woman. Her smile, if anything, was even sweeter than the one she gave Rhichter. Rodero didn't notice the troopers that were watching from behind him take an involuntary step backward when they saw it. Ludmilla turned her head slightly, "Trooper Walchowski, it looks like you're going to get your wish after all."

Sergeant Rodero turned his head to look at Walchowski and that was probably the most painful mistake of his life. The commissar pivoted the left slightly, grabbed the sergeants' groin with a vice like grip with her right hand, and then swept his legs out from under him with her right leg. He fell, but not to the ground.

Ludmilla had done this before and reflected that it really wasn't as hard as it looked. Once they started to fall, they always grabbed her wrist to take the weight off and that only helped her maintain her hold. The real problem was managing the dead weight with one arm. Thankfully, her background provided her with the means to deal with that without too much of a problem. She leaned to the left to balance the weight while the sergeant curled into an upside down fetal position at the end of her arm and shrieked. Part of her mind wished she could have used a gentler grip under different circumstances. Duty first however. Besides, _nobody_ looks down at her for being a woman. She looked around the room, noting that everyone had pale faces and both hands clasped protectively over their groins. Ludmilla smiled in satisfaction. There was really nothing quite like seeing a large group of men all fearing for their manhood, and knowing that she was the reason. She let the sergeant scream for a few seconds and then roared, _"SILENCE!"_

His screams were reduced to a barely contained whimper. As for the rest of the room, there was total silence, not even the sound of breathing. The only sounds that were heard were coming from outside.

Looking down at Rodero with an expression of mild interest she asked, "So then, do I have your undivided attention?" Frantic nodding was the only reply. She released him and then shook her arm free of his grip. He thudded to the floor and a couple of troopers rushed forward to help him. "O.K., are the rest of you paying attention as well? Good. Listen carefully." As she talked, she paced in a slow circle around the sergeant and the two men helping him so that she could be addressing everyone. "I am Commissar Ludmilla Rheinholt. I have been assigned here and there is nothing that any of us can do about it, so get used to it. You will address me as 'Commissar' or 'Commissar Rheinholt'. You will _not_ address me as madam, lady, or refer to my gender in any way unless you wish to feel my displeasure." She looked pointedly at the curled up figure of the sergeant, "Any questions on that?"

"NO COMMISSAR!"

"Good. Next, before you start calling me a bitch behind my back, I want you to know full well that I _am_ a bitch. A bitch with a _really_ good grip I might add. Lastly, if you want to give me a nickname, I suggest you use the one they had for me at my last posting. They called me 'Ball Crusher'. If any of you cannot figure out why," she gave them a truly evil smile, "just come see me and I'll educate you." With that she strode from the barracks and returned to her quarters.

Trooper Rhichter watched the commissar leave from the safety of the back of the crowd. His only thought was 'Thank the Emperor that wasn't me'. He looked over to where Sgt. Rodero was laying and then thought, 'If it had to be someone though, I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather have it be'. True, he lost a bit of face today, and that is never a good thing for a bully. He also found out what people really thought of him and wasn't too happy about that either. However, after seeing his worst enemy hang by his balls when it could have been him, he still put this day down as a good one.

The two troopers were trying to help Rodero to his feet so they could get him over to the infirmary. "Hang on Sarge; we'll get ya taken care of."

"Yeah, the doc will get you fixed up and you'll be alright."

"I don't think I'll ever be right again."

"Take it easy Sarge. I know it hurts like hell, but you'll heal."

"It's not that." Rodero looked at the door that the commissar departed from, "I think I'm in love."


End file.
